Forever
by Jezebel95
Summary: That's what I think should have happened between Ron and Hermione to the Shell Cottage, after they ran from Malfoy Manor. Just a romantic one-shot, veeery sweet. What can I do, I love romance. Enjoy the reading!


**I didn't expect so many reviews and readers for one of my first stories: THANK YOU! Hope more reviews will come!**

Ron's POV:

As soon as his feet touched the ground, he sprinted towards the small house, the girl in his arms still motionless. She was pale, her skin the same color of the white sand under his feet, and a thin scarlet ribbon of blood was dripping from the cut on her neck. Her breathing was even, and it barely raised her chest; if it wasn't for that small, almost imperceptible movement, he could have thought she was dead.

Ron didn't waste time knocking at the door: he sprang it open with a loud bang, rushing inside, while a sleepy but determined Bill ran down the stairs, wand held firmly in his hand. Fleur was right behind him, her ivory-blonde hair swaying on her back in a long braid. The half-Veela looked at him in surprise and confusion, but Ron ignored her: he'd have explained later, there was not enough time now. _She _needed help, and it was all that mattered.

"Help her, please," he begged, fixing his eyes on his brother's scarred face. Fleur nodded, gently pushing Bill aside and gesturing towards the top of the stairs.

"Bring 'er upstairs," she said, and Ron followed her, taking two steps at a time, to a small guest bedroom. It was the same Ron slept into at Christmas, with the twin beds at the opposites sides of the door, the pale lavender-colored walls and the large window which showed the grey waters of the winter ocean.

"What 'appened to 'er?" Fleur asked, concern darkening her light blue eyes. Ron hesitated, gently laying Hermione on one of the beds. "The Cruciatus curse," he whispered eventually, his mouth dry at the memory of Hermione's piercing, pain-filled screams echoing in the manor. His sister-in-law sighed her head with a grimace of sympathy. "Poor girl…I'll take care of 'er, don't worry. You go downstairs with Bill while I-" Ron interrupted her, shaking his head. "I'm not leaving her," he said firmly through clenched teeth. _Over my dead body!, _he thought stubbornly. He was ready to fight with Fleur if it was necessary.

Fleur's POV:

Fleur tried to reply, but something in Ron's eyes held her back: she knew he'd have rather died instead of leaving the unconscious girl. This wasn't the shy boy she'd last seen at Christmas, but a determined young man. She shivered thinking about what could have changed him so much in such a short time, and turned her attention back to the girl. She forced Ron to get out of the room just for the few minutes she needed to take care of Hermione's worst injuries and to change her into one of her nightgowns, but she heard the boy pacing restlessly outside the door the whole time. Once she was done, she called him back, and he rushed inside, worry furrowing his face. "She's sleeping," she warned him, her voice low. Ron nodded absentmindedly, and Fleur left. Before closing the door behind her, she looked back at Bill's younger brother, and she couldn't help but smile when she saw Ron gently tucking the girl under the covers and brushing a strand of tangled hair from her face.

Ron's POV:

Ron sat down on the wooden floor, his head reclined back against the side of the mattress. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the regular, even sound of Hermione's breathing behind him. His heart was still aching from the fear of losing her, and his hands wouldn't stop shaking, so he crossed his arms over his chest to keep them still. Then he waited, painfully aware of every second passing by. The light outside the window became brighter, but it stayed gray: heavy dark clouds suffocated the sun, and soon it started to rain heavily; after a while the rhythmical ticking of the drops onto the roof and the glass of the window lulled Ron to sleep, and he drifted off to unconsciousness, exhausted.

Ron opened his eyes to the light, tentative touch of small fingers through his hair. For a moment he thought he was still dreaming; then he realized what had happened. He turned, and saw a pair of large, dark-chocolate brown eyes staring back at him.

She was awake.

"Hey," he said softly, searching for any sign of pain in her delicate features. "How do you feel?" She was pale, and faint purple shadows circled her eyes; she looked even smaller than usual, curled up under the blankets. "Been better," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, and a weak smile lit up her face. She was so beautiful and brave…Ron took her hands in his and rested his chin on the mattress, eyes never leaving hers. "I'm sorry," he whispered softly, ashamed of himself. Hermione looked at him in surprise. "For what?" she asked, frowning in confusion. Ron lowered his gaze. "For not getting to you faster in the manor. For not being able to protect you. For leaving you months ago. For being the selfish arse I am." He had never told her he was sorry for hurting her so much, not directly, at least. And thinking that she might have died without ever knowing convinced him to do it. She pulled one of her hands from his hold and gently placed it on his cheek.

"You don't have to apologize for anything, Ronald," she whispered, her dark eyes shining with tears. And then, suddenly, "I heard you screaming my name, you know? Back to the manor," she said in a low voice. Ron looked up at her, surprised. Hermione blushed, but got on. "I thought the pain would have driven me mad, but then I heard your voice, and it-I guess it was the only thing that kept my mind from drifting away." Ron smiled and took the hand she still had on his cheek, lightly pressing it to his lips. _I love you. _He wanted so bad to say those three words, after years of keeping them trapped inside his heart…Then he saw something, a bandage wrapped tightly around Hermione's wrist, barely visible under the white, long-sleeved nightgown Fleur borrowed her, and he frowned.

"I didn't know your arm was injured too," he said, worried. Hermione pulled back suddenly, hiding her right arm under the covers and sitting up, Ron understood, to put more distance between them. _What the…_he thought, confused. He sat on the bed beside her, and took her hand again. "What's this?" he asked softly, lightly brushing his fingers on the rough bandage. She didn't answer, her eyes low, her cheeks flushed with shame. What else had Bellatrix done to her?

Hermione's POV:

Hermione kept her eyes stubbornly fixed onto the white sheets pooled in her lap. She didn't want him to see: that was the concrete proof of her being _wrong_, and she couldn't…"Hermione, please," he whispered.

"I don't want to hurt you," he added, his voice so low she barely heard his words. She knew that, but she was afraid of what he would have thought seeing the obnoxious mark Bellatrix had left on her. She hesitated for one more second; then she nodded once. As Ron gently unwrapped the bandage from her wrist, bits and pieces of what Riddle's medallion had told her over and over months ago came back to the surface of Hermione's mind.

_Rejected by the world you've been born into, never fitting in the one you have joined…Seen as a freak by both…Always made fun of, even by those whom you call friends, even by the one you have come to love so desperately…How could he, a noble Pureblood, ever feel _anything _but disgust and pity for a foolish, useless Mudblood like you…He'd be better off without you always around… _And then the white gauze fell on the soft blanket, and she felt exposed like never before.

Ron's POV:

When he saw it, every thought in his mind flew away, leaving only a white, incandescent fury. A word had been cut in the soft flesh of the inside of Hermione's wrist, the irregular, rough letters standing out, deep red onto her pale skin. _Mudblood. _

Bellatrix would have paid for this, he swore to himself. He would have killed her for what she had done to Hermione, _his _Hermione.

He looked up, and his heart squeezed, rage leaving his mind at once at the sight of her: she was keeping her eyes fixed onto the blanket, her face turned away from him like she wanted to hide. Her hand was shaking slightly, and Ron saw a single, shiny tear escaping Hermione's eyes, rolling down her cheek and dripping on the sheets, where it left a tiny wet trace. Then Ron realized it: she was afraid. Afraid of letting him see the abusive word sliced in her skin. Like he could ever think that mattered…

"Hey…" He put a hand on her cheek, gently turning her face until she looked him in the eye. "This," he said, gently caressing her wounded wrist, "Is not important. It's not who you are, Hermione. It doesn't count anything." She was crying now, tears streaming freely down her face. Ron pulled her into his arms, rocking her like she was a child and burying his face in her hair.

"I don't care you are Muggle-Born, Hermione," he whispered. "I've never cared."

She took a deep breath, pulling away slightly to look at him in the face. Ron gently took her face in his hands and wiped away her tears with his thumbs, smiling.

"And I'm a Weasley, for Christ's Sake! I mean, we are the poorest lot around, we reproduce like rabbits and we live in a house that could crumble on us at any moment! It's not like I'm part of the royal family." His eyes softened, and he brushed a strand of dark hair from her face. "But, even if I was," he said, his voice low. "I would always choose you. You, Hermione Jean Granger, the most beautiful, intelligent, annoying, knows-it-all Muggle-Born witch I've ever met." She was looking up at him, her eyes filled with surprise and hope, and with something Ron had longed to see for a long time: love. A love so bright and strong it was unmistakable.

"But will I ever be enough to be chosen myself?" he asked softly, taking her hands in his. Hermione smiled, a smile so sweet it made Ron's heart melt. "I think you are yet," she said, her voice so low he barely heard her. Ron smiled, leaning closer to kiss her forehead, the tip of her nose, her damp eyelids. And then, not even daring to breathe, he pressed his lips against hers with the softest touch. For a moment she stayed still; then she leaned into him, tentatively returning the kiss. Ron slid his hands in her hair, pulling her closer.

How many times had he dreamed about this? Hundreds, maybe thousands. But a thousand of those dreams could not be compared to that one single kiss, to the sensation of her soft, small body pressed against his own. When they parted, Ron gently rested his forehead on hers, his arms still around her protectively. "I love you," he whispered, twining one of her dark curls around his finger. Hermione smiled sheepishly. "I thought you would have never said that," she said, resting her head on his shoulder.

They stayed like that for a long time, until Hermione's breathing slowed and deepened. She had fallen asleep in his arms.

Ron smiled and stroked her hair before gently laying her down, pulling the blanket on her shoulders. She was so small and frail she almost disappeared into the soft bed. She looked peaceful in her sleep, and a faint smile tilted her lips upwards. Ron looked at her one last time and got up, but a small hand grabbed his sleeve, tugging at it lightly.

"Don't go," Hermione whispered in a small voice, looking up at him with sleepy eyes. She spoke those two words in a way that made his heart squeeze with warmth, and he nodded, laying besides her on the bed. She snuggled closer to him, and Ron took her in his arms, gently rubbing her back through the covers.

"I'll stay," he promised. "For as long as you want me to." Hermione yawned, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against his chest. "Forever, then," she said in a low voice. Ron smiled, tucking her head under his chin. "Forever," he agreed.


End file.
